Smooth CriminalA Harleen Quinzel OriginJoker story)
by Ocean Eyed Redhead
Summary: Harleen Quinzel is the young and undermined criminal psychologist with Gotham PD. One day, after speaking with the Joker, he becomes obsessed and so does she. How long until Harleen is pushed to her breaking point?


"Harleen!"

Harleen Quinzel's head whipped up from her computer screen and she felt the air leave her lungs. Two police officers escorted a handcuffed man in a purple shirt and button up vest through the bull pen towards the interrogation room. Harleen's eyes quickly darted over to Commissioner Gordon who had called her name. He waved for her to come over to him. Minimizing the files on her computer screen, Harleen stood to her feet. Her heels clacked as she maneuvered her way around the desks of other officers to Gordon. It was obvious that Gotham's finest didn't believe Harleen belonged with them. She was just a criminal psychologist. Albeit, a very good one, but still a stranger who had no place interfering with their criminals. A glorified analyzer of feelings that they all assumed they could do without. All of them except Gordon who found frequent use for Harleen. She halted before him and glanced over his shoulder only to feel startled once more. The man she now recognized as the Joker made eye contact with her. His eyes weren't dark just because they rimmed with black paint but all because they were pitch black themselves. Like smoke from a massive fire.

She forced her large blue eyes to look at Gordon who gazed at her with understanding.

"Shocking, isn't he?" he muttered, nodding backward to where the Joker had been.

Harleen nodded in response.

"I'm about to interrogate him about his bomb threat. We'd like to get your professional opinon on who he is and what makes him tick."

"We?" Harleen smirked.

Gordon smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

"It doesn't matter who as long as I say it."

Gordon started towards the interrogation chamber. Harleen walked as fast as her pencil skirt would allow her to move her legs.

"Watch and observe. While I'm talking to him you're going to have to fend for yourself and convince Burnes, Simmons and Truman that your opinion is the professional one and therefore right. I've vouched for you for you so you're on your way to them believing your every word, but no matter their snide comments or ignorant reactions, take notes. I'll come out and debrief you when I'm finished. Got it?"

Gordon clarified as they reached the interrogation chamber.

"I think so," she replied.

Gordon placed a comforting hand on her shoulder before entering the chamber. Harleen took a deep breath and stepped inside the observation room. The officers' gazes quickly flickered from the two way mirror to Harleen as they grunted ignorant comments between one another.

Harleen could make out some words like:

"…sleeping with…"

"…pretty face…"

"…xy body…"

And even:

"…useless…"

Harleen cleared her throat and raised her head, walking confidently to the two way mirror and studying the scenario.

"Where did you put it?" Gordon asked, his voice sounding over the speakers.

"Put what?"

"I think you know what," Gordon replied calmly.

"The bomb? I didn't put a bomb anywhere…" The Joker said with feigned innocence.

Harleen narrowed her eyes. He was difficult to read. He didn't tap his feet or shift his shoulder and refuse to make eye contact. No. It was as if he was having a casual conversation with an old friend.

"Well, doc? Is he lying?" Truman asked in his brusque voice.

Harleen's eyes remained trained on the Joker.

"Too soon to tell…" she muttered.

Truman scoffed. His skepticism was tangible.

"Now, bombs… Plural… I put BOMBS in a few places," the Joker said leaning back in his chair.

Gordon didn't break eye contact as he sat across the table from him. He folded his hands on the table almost in the same fashion as the Joker.

"I don't suppose that you'll tell me where…" Gordon sighed.

"I will. For the proper price," the Joker nodded.

Harleen raised her brows as he finally made some sort of gesture that was outside the norm of regular conversation.

He pointed his fingers at Gordon and furrowed his brows mashing his lips together.

"He's lying. He just fiddled. He's lying," Officer Simmons said. "And I don't need a degree to tell me that."

Harleen looked to her left, casting a steely gaze on Simmons.

"What my degree tells me is that in the case of an average human being fiddling is a sign of deception, however the Joker is not an average person. When it comes to people with psychological disorders they tend to do what extroverts do when lying which is to freeze up. So he's telling the truth, actually. There are indeed multiple bombs…" Harleen said coolly.

Simmons maintained a cold gaze with Harleen but broke it off when he saw that she would not surrender so easily.

"Not to mention the Joker has proven to be reasonably honest with his attacks. That's something I didn't need a degree to tell me."

The room was dead silent, Harleen felt her heart race for a second as it normally did after she would say something rude in her defense.

"So what's the price we need to pay?" asked Gordon.

The Joker leaned forward on the table and lowered his head, giving Gordon a knowing look.

"I want to talk to the lady."

"Ramirez is on patrol," Gordon replied flatly.

The Joker shook his head.

"No, no, no, no, no, no…The one who was in the bull pen. That blonde angel. The one who's listening right now."

He turned his black gaze to the two way mirror almost as if he could see Harleen through it. The police officers chuckled around her. She swallowed and averted her eyes awkwardly.

"What do you make of that, College?" Truman snickered.

Harleen sighed and folded her arms.

"He's chosen who he assumes is the weakest link. He wants to upset me, which he thinks will upset you which will cause some sort of chaos for him. He wants chaos," Harleen deduced, still looking at her weathered heels.

"Why do you want to talk to her?" Gordon asked.

The Joker leaned back again and turned his eyes back to Gordon, a smirk on his red lips.

"Do you want to know where the bombs are or not? I'll tell her. You can listen in if you like, but know that as good of a guy as you are Commissioner, and as much as I respect you just a bit more than other schemers, I'm only gonna tell the blonde. Not you or the other ah…apes back there," he said nodding to the glass where they watched in awe.

Gordon shared a long gaze with the Joker before sighing exhaustedly.

The Joker looked at him expectantly.

"Alright then," Gordon sighed, standing.

"Mhm?" The Joker prompted.

"You're going to Arkham. We'll figure this out without you."

With that, Gordon exited the interrogation chamber. A look of exasperation on his wary face. The officers chuckled, murmuring remarks about how Harleen probably couldn't have handled it anyway. Gordon entered and all went silent. Harleen bit her lip and looked up at him. Gordon frowned then looked back at the officers.

"I want Burnes and Simmons to escort him to Arkham. Harleen, come with me and let's debrief you. See if anything you got can help us," he said rubbing the back of his neck.

A thirst to prove herself burned in Harleen's throat. She swallowed and nodded her head, preparing to speak up.

"I'll talk to him," she said in a voice just loud enough for them to hear.

All eyes were on her. Gordon gazed at her incredulously. She kept steady eye contact with him.

"Harleen, no. He'll eat you alive," Gordon muttered.

Harleen shook her head and took a step towards Gordon.

"I'll be fine. We need to find out where those bombs are and if talking with me is all it takes, then I'm fine with it," she said, trying to appear noncommittal.

Gordon studied her for a moment, then sighed, hanging his head. He looked to the interrogation chamber with wary eyes where the Joker sat almost patiently. He stared straight ahead, something sinister lurking behind his dark eyes. Gordon turned his gaze back to Harleen. She was so young. So innocent. So kind. How could he let her be near this man? However, something in her eyes convinced him otherwise. Those big blue eyes held something more than fear and longing. They held confidence and a sort of bravery.

"Alright. Go in," he finally said.

The other officers snickered and mumbled rude comments to one another. Gordon watched as Harleen simply ignored them, shouldered past him and exited the observation room fearlessly.

Quickly, Gordon sped after her. Just before her fingers tapped the keypad, Gordon stopped her by grabbing her shoulders and turning her to face him.

"Listen, Harleen. Don't let him get to you. Don't let him know anything about your past or present or future. Nothing personal that he can use against you. Trust me when I say that you do not want the Joker in your head. Got it?"

She nodded and left his gentle grasp. Harleen tapped the code into the keypad that resided by the door to the interrogation chamber and heard a hiss and click as the locks surrendered. She pushed open the door with one hand and stepped inside, immediately looking at him.

Harleen had to bite back a gasp. Even from across the room his eyes scorched her. Black as coal and burning into her.

As astonsished as Harleen was, she managed to maintain her composure. She counted to three mentally and began walking towards the table he sat at.

"Evening," he said studying her as she walked towards him.

Even though he had spoken, Harleen could only hear the echo of her shoes in the room and her heart beating in her ears. Struggling not to shake with anxiety, Harleen pulled out the chair opposite the Joker and fluidly sat before him, placing her arms on the table, fingers laced.

"And who are you?"

Harleen's composed expression faltered for a second but she managed to return to it almost immediately.

"Where are the bombs?" Harleen asked in a monotone voice.

He leaned back in his chair, placing his cuffed hands in his lap.

"Tell me your name."

"That wasn't a part of the deal," said Harleen with a chiding look.

The corner of his red lips twitched up in a half smile.

"You said you wanted to talk to me. Not ask me questions. So let's talk," shrugged Harleen.

He narrowed his eyes at her and then abruptly leaned on the table again, this times his hands in his lap.

"Listen," he said licking the corners of his mouth quickly, "I know what's happening here. Commissioner in there said that I was going straight to Arkham instead of talking with you. Then he leaves and you come back contrary to what he said. This obviously means that he told you no, but you persisted. Why, though? Certainly not for my, ah…looks. No, no, no… It's because you are trying to prove something."

Harleen leaned back in her chair, staring at him speculatively.

"You're seen as a pretty face. The doe eyed blonde with the degree she probably slept with professors to get. Around the office, you feel the disapproval of your peers and suppress your knowledge of their desire to be with you…sexually," he said, enunciating each syllable of the last word.

He stared at Harleen expectantly. She raised her brows at him.

"As true as some of those observations may be, you are incorrect if you assume their thoughts bother me," she said simply.

"Hm," he said thoughtfully.

"Now," Harleen began, inclining her head, "where are these bombs?"

He cocked an eyebrow and sat erectly in his chair giving her a knowing look.

"What's your name?" he asked again.

Harleen realized that he would not relent. The only way to figure out where the bombs were was to say her name.

"Doctor Harleen Quinzel. Where are the bombs?" she said with no feeling.

"There's one at the boy's home on North Wells. One at the country club in Shorey and then another in the low income building in the Narrows," he said stoutly.

"And when do they go off?"

"At seven seventeen tonight."

Harleen gave him a nod and stood swiftly.

"Where are you going?" he asked in an accusatory tone.

She turned to face him and shrugged.

"I got the desired information."

"Aren't you gonna ask me how I ah…slept? Or dreams I had and what they could mean?"

"And why would I do that?"

He gave her a noncommittal look and leaned back in his chair once again, pursing his lips.

"You said you were a doctor. Obviously not traditionally medical. You're a psychiatrist."

Harleen folded her arms, slightly impressed.

"Psychologist actually," she corrected.

"So? Don't you want to stick around and talk? Do you wanna know about my childhood traumas?" taunted the Joker.

Harleen scoffed lightly and started towards the door.

"I'm not that kind of psychologist," she called over her shoulder.

"What kind of psychologist are you?"

She touched the handle of the door and sighed, impatient to get out.

"I'm a criminal psychologist," she said, still facing the door.

She could have exited at that moment when a soft silence had commenced, but something made her linger.

"And they sent you in here because ah…they assume I'm a criminal? A run of the mill criminal?"

Harleen looked over her shoulder and made eye contact with him. He was staring at her with a certain vigor in his gaze. One that was full of sincere intrigue. She smiled slightly.

"Essentially."

He nodded once and then shrugged.

"See you around, Doctor Quinzel."

Harleen gave him a swift nod and left. The conversation haunting her as she left.


End file.
